


my heart is a blue ridge mountain

by mercutioes



Category: Original Work
Genre: F/F, Slow Burn, just...... as many tropes as i could cram in here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-26
Updated: 2017-11-26
Packaged: 2019-02-06 22:51:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12827814
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercutioes/pseuds/mercutioes
Summary: it happens slowly, then all at once





	my heart is a blue ridge mountain

**Author's Note:**

> _my heart is a blue ridge mountain_   
>  _and my head, an overflowing fountain_   
>  _oh, my heart is a blue ridge mountain_   
>  _but i never, never knew_   
>  _i never knew, never knew_   
>  _never never knew, never knew_
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> thank u to julian for creating my huge and beautiful wife sku passerine

1.

It takes a couple of weeks to finish, but eventually the _ fluxus _ is back online.  It’s still rough around the edges – Sku wasn’t there to make it look pretty, after all – but it moves and shoots and does all the things it was built to do.

Cerulean takes it out for a test run when Sku deems it ready.  They managed to get it surreptitiously to the edge of the city where the urban sprawl opens up into dusty scrubland.  Cerulean runs it through a couple test forms, remembered from their endless days of mech training as a child.  Sku watches as its strange, asymmetrical shape moves gracefully between poses – it’s almost balletic in a way that most Revolution mechs aren’t, built with the style and fluidity that the Bantraesh value instead of substance and resilience and practicality.

They come to a stop in front of Sku in a low kneeling position and Cerulean pops open the canopy of the  _ fluxus _ , jumps down onto the ground.  Before Sku can say anything, they run and sweep her up in an elated, exuberant hug.  Her hands come up on instinct to rest on their back, and she’s almost surprised to find that they’re a few inches taller than her, lanky and angular.  Before she can even register it as a thought, she wonders if they’re eating enough.  Cerulean pulls back, holds her at arm’s length.

“Thank you,” they breathe, goofy smile still spread across their face.  Their face falls, just a bit, and they drop their arms, curling into themself.  “I, uh…”

“What,” says Sku.  Without the contact, the cool night air of the desert nips at her bare arms.

“I can’t really, um…  I can’t really pay you?  At least, not much.”  They try a smile that turns into more of a grimace, and Sku’s heart clenches.  “My mom cut me off.  From everything.”

Sku sighs, pinches the bridge of her nose.  This kid.

“Buy me dinner and we’ll call it even.”

  
  


2.

Cerulean finds themself coming up with increasingly elaborate excuses to visit Sku’s workshop.  First, it’s to return a tool they found at the bottom of their bag, forgotten during the repairs.  Then it’s with questions about the _ fluxus _ , small concerns that they could just call her for but instead they find themself on the bus out to her workshop, dusty flatlands blurring out the window.  Soon, there isn’t even an excuse, it’s just checking in, bringing her dinner, asking about the revolution efforts.  They stay late into the night some nights, just talking with her about nothing at all.  They’re always surprised at how easy it is to talk to Sku.  They were trained in conversation, sure, but talking to Sku is honest in a way that’s unlike what they’re used to - she’s blunt and dry but kind in a way that settles warm in Cerulean’s heart.

Sometimes, it’s late enough that the buses and trains aren’t running often and it’s dark, and Sku offers Cerulean her couch for the night.  She hands them a blanket, old and soft, and they curl up under it, body just the slightest bit too long for the sofa but they don’t complain - they’re grateful enough to be in Sku’s presence for even just a few extra hours.

Maybe it’s that thought that tips them off that they’ve got it _ bad _ .

  
  


3.

It’s a hot day in early summer when Sku takes deep breath, turns to Cerulean where they’re working on the mech together and says,

“Do you wanna move in?”

There’s a panicked moment of silence where Cerulean just stares at her, wordless, and Sku’s absolutely certain that she’s fucked this whole thing up.  Sku’s just opening up her mouth to stammer out an excuse or an explanation or something when -

“Why?”  Cerulean’s face goes bright red and their hands fly up in a placating gesture. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m so flattered!  And grateful!  That’s so kind of you but… why?”

“I mean,” says Sku, feeling her own cheeks heat up, “I have an extra room and you’re over here all the time anyways and it’s kind of a tough commute and it doesn’t make sense for you to be paying rent on your own place if you’re never there and --”  Sku pauses to take a breath.  “And I like having you around, I guess.”  She shrugs.

“I --”  Cerulean chews on their lip, eyes cast to the side and Sku has to forcibly tear her eyes away from the glint of their teeth on their lip.  They finally look up, bright grin spreading slowly across their face.

“I’d like that,” they say, something small and hopeful in their voice.  Sku exhales all in a rush, a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding.

“Okay,” she says, “good.  Me too.”

They turn back to the mech but the air between them has changed in a way that neither of them can name quite yet.

  
  


4.

“I’m just saying, if you  _ really  _ want to dismantle the colonial hierarchy, you’d explore all possible routes!”

“You actually think they’d talk to us?” Sku spits, turning the wrench with more force than it really requires.  “Those bastards don’t care about anything but their family lines.”

“It wouldn’t hurt to  _ try _ setting up negotiations!”  Cerulean twists their braid in their hands, restless.  “There’s more to it than direct attack, we could put together a team to meet --”

“And  _ what _ ,” says Sku, whirling to face them directly, “they listen to our complaints and happily agree to dismantle the whole system?  They stop exploiting our fucking people and say  _ sorry _ ?  You’re fooling yourself.”

“I’m not  _ stupid _ , Sku,” they shoot back, arms folded tight across their chest.  “But attacking them outright obviously isn’t doing all that much --”

“People have  _ died _ , Cerulean.”  Sku’s hands clench on the hot metal of the mech - she’s gone all quiet and Cerulean wants to reach out and put a hand on her shoulder, wipe that pained look off her face, but they’re frozen.  “Really important people have lost everything trying to fight this colonialist bullshit and I  _ won’t _ believe he died for nothing.”  Sku’s eyes widen.  “ _ They _ , that they died for nothing.”

Cerulean’s gut twists painfully.

“Sku, I’m sorry --”

“It’s fine.”  She doesn’t look at them, eyes focused intently on the splayed-open innards of the mech.  “Can you, uh --”

“Yeah, of course.”  Cerulean shrugs on their jacket, turning to head back to the house.  There’s a moment where they want to reach out, to do  _ something _ to take the tension out of the lines of Sku’s back, but they falter, drop their hand.

They make Sku’s favorite for dinner, and if she notices, she doesn’t comment.

  
  


5.

They’re drunk, sprawled on the floor of Sku’s living room and giggling like they’re sixteen and tipsy for the very first time.

“I can’t believe you thought I was a  _ spy _ ,” Cerulean laughs, cheeks flushed and hair loose around their face.

“Can you blame me?” says Sku, taking another gulp of her drink.  “All I knew was that you were the Bantraesh kid who Pax caught sneaking around our meeting, what was I supposed to think?”

“ _ Fine _ , I cede the point,” says Cerulean, scooting closer and bumping Sku’s shoulder with their own.  “But come on, I would make a  _ terrible _ spy.”

“I don’t know,” muses Sku, turning to them and sizing them up.  “You’d make a better spy than I would... at least  _ you _ know how to dance.”

Cerulean releases a long breath in a  _ pffft _ sound, swirling the dark amber liquid in their glass with a grin.  They suddenly look up at Sku, intense.

“I could teach you!”

“... _ excuse me? _ ”

“Come on!”  They jump to their feet, swaying slightly and fumble at the interface of the shitty speaker system in the living room until they find a traditional waltz that rings tinny through the speakers.  They offer Sku a hand, trying their best to school their face into a serious expression.

“Lady Passerine,” they say in an exaggerated mockery of the upper-class Bantraesh accent they try so desperately to hide.  “Care to dance?”

Sku stares up at them for a long moment.  They waggle their eyebrows.

And before she knows it, Cerulean’s swept her up in a waltz, stumbling and giggling but their hand is firm and warm on her shoulder blade and their other hand is just a little bit sweaty clasped in hers and it’s.

It’s  _ perfect _ .

Cerulean’s a good dancer, better than she could ever hope to be, and they manage to sidestep most of her misplaced feet and turn a stumble into a twirl that leaves Sku breathless.  She can’t remember the last time she danced for  _ fun _ , not because it was expected of her.

The song ends and shuffles over to something else, slow and easy, and Cerulean pulls her in closer, slotting their bodies together until her head’s hooked over their shoulder.  Their loose hair tickles her ear.

“I’m sorry for calling you a spy,” Sku says, for lack of anything else to say.  Cerulean laughs, and the vibration of it against her chest makes her shiver.

“Apology accepted,” they say, squeezing her hand where they’re still clasped together, hanging by their sides.

They dance like that, swaying in the middle of Sku’s shabby living room, until the song finally fades to a stop.

  
  


6.

Cerulean’s making dinner when Sku stumbles in clutching her arm to her chest, pale-faced and woozy.  The spoon drops from their hand with a clatter as they rush over to her, helping her over to the couch.

“Shit, Sku, what happened?”  They suck a sharp breath in through their teeth when Sku gingerly moves her hand away from her arm to reveal a deep, ragged gash, still oozing blood.

“Leftover land mine,” she grits out.  “Those fuckers just won’t leave us alone, huh?”

Cerulean’s already rummaging through the closet for Sku’s emergency medical supplies, grabbing antiseptic and stasis gel and painkillers and rushing back over to Sku’s side.  Her head is tilted back on the couch, eyes closed, smears of ash and dirt on her face sticking out even more for the pallor of her skin.

“Take this,” they say, handing Sku a small pill that she swallows, relief spreading slowly across her face over the next minute as Cerulean digs in the kit for cotton pads and bandages.

“Okay, this is going to hurt,” they say, trying to stop the shaking of their hands as they pour antiseptic onto a cotton pad.  The wound is deep but not too long, as far as they can tell, but they’re not a doctor by a long shot.  Sku shoots them a woozy smile, already a little high on the painkiller.

“Hurt me, baby,” she slurs, and Cerulean chokes a short laugh.

“Okay, on three,” they say.  “One, two –”

They press the antiseptic to the wound, catching Sku by surprise, and she chokes back a scream, gritting her teeth against the pain.

“Shh, you’re gonna be fine,” Cerulean murmurs, reaching back behind them for the stasis gel.  “You’re gonna be okay, just breathe.”  They pull the antiseptic away, squeezing the gel onto the cut to knit it together enough to stop the bleeding until they can get Sku to a doctor.  Her breathing is starting to even out, likely due to the painkiller high.  They wrap a bandage around the whole thing.

“Stay there,” they say, heading into the kitchen to grab a wet towel.

“Not goin’ anywhere,” Sku replies, going boneless.  Cerulean returns to try and wipe as much of the ash and dirt from her face and arms as they can, and they try to ignore the way she leans into their hands when they touch her face, telling themselves that this isn’t the time to hope for anything, she’s hurt and high, get it together.

“We need to get you to a doctor,” they say, applying smaller adhesive bandages to the smaller cuts on her face and arms – luckily her clothing had protected the rest of her for the most part.  “I’ll drive.”

“Whatever you want,” Sku slurs, seemingly half-asleep.

They manage to get her out to her shitty car, Sku leaning heavily on their shoulder, and they try hard not to think too much about the way her weight and her warmth feels more natural than anything.

  
  


7.

Cerulean finds Sku out behind the workshop, taped fists pummeling the punching bag she has hanging from a t-bar anchored in the dirt.  She’s worked up a sweat out under the sun and Cerulean takes a self-indulgent moment to admire the way the muscles of her shoulders move before they make their presence known.

“You know, if you need a sparring partner you could just ask.”

Sku startles, whirling around to face them with fists still raised.  She relaxes when she sees them.

“Pretty sure I would break you, babe,” she says, and Cerulean snorts.

“Try me,” they reply.  Their gaze darts down to Sku’s arms and they’re suddenly rethinking trying to fight her but it’s way too late to back down now.  Blood rushes to their cheeks as Sku looks them up and down appraisingly.

“Okay, fine,” she says, “one round.”  She smirks.  “I’ll try to go easy on you.”

“No need,” Cerulean shoots back, trying for confidence they don’t really feel - they haven’t done any hand to hand in many, many months but hopefully the hours and hours of training as a kid will count for  _ something _ .

Sku’s already barefoot so they toe off their shoes and kick them to the side, falling easily into the stance that was drilled into them all those years ago.  Sku matches them, knees bent and center of gravity low.

Sku lunges first, brash and blunt and confident.  Cerulean ducks, spins out of the way, keeping low - they know their advantage lies in their agility, not in sheer force, so they keep dodging and twirling at the edge of Sku’s vision.

It’s apparent pretty early on, though, that Sku outmatches them, no matter how fast they are.  They get in a few lucky jabs, clipping her shoulder or just grazing her back as she turns, but it’s not too long before Sku manages to catch them from behind.  Her arm wraps tight around their torso, trapping their arms and forcing them to bend at the waist a little to accommodate the hold.

They pray desperately to whoever will listen that she chalks up the way their breath hitches and their reddening cheeks to exertion.

“Better than I expected,” Sku says, and her breath is warm on their ear, and oh  _ god _ they are so,  _ so fucked _ .  Sku must realize how close she is, too, because she releases them quickly, turning away and busying herself with unwrapping the tape from her hands.

“Well, at least I know you won’t get yourself killed in a fight, even if you fight like a noble,” she says, and Cerulean’s  _ sure _ they’re not imagining the extra gruffness in her voice.

“How generous,” they reply, trying to steer them back into familiar territory.  Sku laughs.

“Maybe I can teach you how to  _ really _ fight,” she says, “instead of that  _ ballet  _ they taught you.”  Cerulean has to giggle at that - it’s too true and too affectionate for them to actually feel insulted.

“I’d like that,” they say, and Sku grins wide.

  
  


8.

Soon after things truly settle down, maybe seven or eight months since the Solar Union  _ officially _ left the planet, Cerulean manages to get most of their stuff out of the West estate.  Halo’s gone off-world and their mother is away from the city, elsewhere on Bantral, so they take Sku and a rented truck out to the house.

Normally, Sku would give them shit for the opulence of the mansion, the sleek entryway and the expensive, abstract sculptures in the foyer, but their expression keeps her quiet - she can tell it’s not the time.

“Most of it is upstairs,” they say, leading her up the main winding staircase.  They’re moving with purpose, not bothering to look around, and something clenches in Sku’s chest.

They pause in front of a door, fingertips resting on the handle.  Sku puts a hand on their shoulder.

“I can bring your stuff out, you don’t have to--”

“No,” they say, take a deep shuddering breath.  “No, I… I want to do it.”

They push open the door and the breath whooshes out of them all at once.  Sku peers in over their shoulder.  The room is bare, everything packed up neatly in pristine boxes, stacked against the wall.  It’s clinical, the work of a professional, and clearly done months and months ago - the top boxes have gathered a fine layer of dust.  Cerulean laughs quietly, a punched-out sound.  Wordlessly, Sku pulls them into her arms, holds them close as they take deep, ragged breaths.

“I can’t fucking believe her,” they say.  Their voice is a little wet, and when Sku pulls back there are tears in their eyes.

“Fuck her,” she whispers, and they laugh through the tightness in their throat.

“Yeah,” they agree.  Cerulean turns, wiping at their eyes and squaring their shoulders.  “Okay, let’s do this.”

It takes a couple trips in and out to the truck, but they don’t actually have all that much stuff.  When they’ve gotten all the boxes out of their room, they lead Sku through the rest of the mansion, looking to see if there’s anything they’ve forgotten.  The house is sleek, all curving lines and abstract forms - Sku recognizes the family’s style from working on Cerulean’s mech.  Floor to ceiling windows around the whole outer perimeter of the house let in enough natural glow that they don’t need to turn on any lights.

When they’ve made it through the whole mansion, Cerulean stops them in the foyer again, gazing up at the ceremonial rapiers mounted on the wall.  They look at Sku, something fiercely determined in their eyes.

“Boost me up,” they say, and Sku grins.  She puts them on her shoulders and they’re just high enough to snag the rapiers off the wall.  They’re old, burnished silver with hilts covered in fancy engravings, and Cerulean runs their fingers over the family crest at the base of the blade.

“Didn’t take you for a thief,” jokes Sku, nudging their shoulder.  They laugh, stepping forward and swishing the blade in a complicated maneuver.

“I’m not stealing,” they say, moving through fencing forms with a fluidity and practice that catches Sku by surprise.  “I’m just taking my inheritance a little bit early.”  They tip the sword down and smile at her.  “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

They head out to the truck and stick the rapiers in a box in the flatbed.  Sku gets in the driver’s seat but Cerulean pauses outside.  They gaze around the estate one last time, drinking it all in, and Sku lets them have a moment of quiet before she starts the engine.  Cerulean swings into the passenger seat, slams the door, and Sku pointedly doesn’t comment on the way their lip trembles.

They don’t look back as they drive away.

  
  


9.

There's a family of three staying with them, displaced by a revolutionary skirmish against a rogue Bantraesh group - a father and his two young daughters, looking exhausted and defeated.  One of Sku's revolution friends had put them in contact with her as a temporary measure until they could find a new space for the family.

Sku helps haul in their bags, the small amount they could salvage from the charred wreckage of their home, and sets them up in her own bedroom - it has the biggest bed, big enough to fit the three of them.  She hasn’t really considered where she’s going to sleep but resolves to cross that bridge when she gets there.

The father’s name is Hal and he can’t stop heaping thanks onto Sku, who tries her best to awkwardly brush him off.

“It’s really no problem,” she says, and after a while he stops trying to thank her.

Cerulean’s in the kitchen when they arrive and their eyes widen at the extra three people, but they take it in stride, adding more vegetables to the simmering pot on the stove without a word.

The two girls, Maggie and Helena, take to Cerulean immediately, asking them a million questions and braiding their hair into messy pleats (Maggie tells them that they have hair like a  _ princess _ , and Sku has to laugh at that).  Sku sits on the couch and watches them sprawled on the floor while Hal makes some calls in the other room.

Maggie’s eight, she tells them, and much more grown-up than her five-year-old sister, and Cerulean nods seriously in agreement.  Helena butts in, protesting that Maggie’s not grown-up at all.

“You know, I have an older sister,” Cerulean tells her, tugging her to sit on their lap.  “And between you and me?  Being grown-up isn’t all that great.”

Helena giggles, and something clenches in Sku’s gut that she really,  _ really _ doesn’t want to deal with right now.  She imagines suddenly having a house full of kids, of coming in from the workshop and seeing Cerulean in the kitchen or the living room every single day, of --

Shit.   _ Shit. _

While Sku’s been having her crisis on the couch, Cerulean’s taken the girls into the kitchen to help finish dinner, directing each of them on how to set the table and how to chop the last of the vegetables.  They’re obviously enamored with Cerulean, taking their gentle instructions with the utmost seriousness.

Hal comes back in and laughs quietly at the scene in the kitchen.

“You and your wife ever think about having kids?” he asks, and Sku flinches.

“Oh, no, we’re not --  we’re not married.”  He raises an eyebrow.  “We’re not together!  We’re just friends.”

“My mistake,” he says, a smile in his voice.

 

Later on, Sku’s putting blankets on the couch when Cerulean wanders out of their bedroom, pajama pants riding low on their hips.

“Are you sleeping on the couch?” they ask, pushing loose hair away from their face.

“Yeah,” Sku replies, tucking the top sheet into the crevices of the couch.  “They needed the bigger bed, I don’t really mind.”

“Come sleep with me,” they say, and Sku looks up sharply.  They seem to realize how that sounds too late, and the rate at which their face reddens is honestly astounding.

“I don’t mean it like that!  I mean, my bed is pretty big and the couch isn’t very comfortable and I’m sure we could both fit!”  They twist the ends of their hair in their fingers and Sku finally snaps out of her momentary shock.

“I don’t want to impose on --”

“No, really, it’s fine!”

“If,” Sku takes a breath, trying to calm her pounding heart.  “If you’re really okay with it, then… sure.”

“Okay.  Good.”

She follows them into their bedroom, trying not to think too hard about any one thing.  Cerulean climbs into the bed - a queen-size in the most generous sense of the word, and neither of them are particularly small people - and Sku can’t turn back now so she settles into the other side, half-hanging off the edge and back ramrod-straight.

“You good?” asks Cerulean, and she murmurs a weak affirmative.  She can  _ feel _ them at her back and a knot forms at the pit of her stomach, leaden and sick.  It’s like the world is mocking her specifically, teasing her with what she wants but can’t  _ have _ .  More than anything, Sku would like to roll over and pull Cerulean into her arms and kiss them until neither of them can breathe and then keep kissing but that’s not the way this  _ works _ .  People like Sku don’t get to have people like them, and Sku thought she’d made her peace with that long, long ago.

She stays frozen like that for what feels like hours, is halfway to getting up and moving back onto the couch when Cerulean rolls over and Sku feels a warm hand land on her arm.  Their breathing is deep and even, clearly asleep.  She doesn’t move an inch, waiting to see if they’ll wake up.  Instead, they grasp onto her arm, burrow into her side as if it’s perfectly natural, and her breath escapes her in a rush.

Clearly, she’s stuck here for the rest of the night.  Might as well get comfortable - at least that’s how she justifies putting an arm around their shoulders, pulling them closer and pulling the blankets up higher over both of them.

They don’t talk about it in the morning, but Hal gives them a knowing look when they emerge from the bedroom together.

  
  


10.

Sku honestly has no idea how Trechein West found their house but when she pulls open the front door, she certainly isn’t expecting a woman who looks  _ uncannily _ like Cerulean, the lines of her coat severe and angular in the style that Sku’s come to recognize as the signature of the Wests.

“Is my daughter here?” she asks.  Her voice lilts around the vowels in the way Cerulean tries to hide, and that’s what shakes Sku out of her shock enough to reply.

“What do you want --”

“I  _ want  _ to speak to my daughter,” she says, and her tone makes Sku bristle, familiar in its disdain.

“Well, they’re not here, so I’d appreciate it if you’d --”

“I  _ know  _ they’re here,” and oh, her voice is  _ icy _ now.  Sku’s about to tell her to fuck off in so many words but a voice comes from behind her that makes her freeze.

“What the  _ fuck _ are you doing here?”

Sku moves out of the doorway and she’s hit by the  _ uncanniness _ , seeing Cerulean in the shape of Trechein’s face, the curve of their lips the same as their mother’s, though she paints hers in severe lines while Cerulean’s are chapped and bitten raw.

“Cerulean,” she says, and Sku can see them forcibly stand straighter, taller, schooling their features into an implacable mask.

“I want you to leave,” they say, and Trechein’s lips twist in an ugly grimace.

“We need to talk, Cerulean,” she replies.  She looks like she’s going to take a step into the house when Cerulean moves forward.

“We can talk outside,” they snap, “you’re not welcome in our home.”

Sku doesn’t really know what to do with that, is so taken aback that she almost doesn’t notice the way Trechein snarls out a laugh.

“So, what, you shack up with a rebel bitch and you think you can talk to me like that?”  Trechein steps forward, over the threshold until she’s inches away from Cerulean.  She’s shorter than her daughter but doesn’t let that stop her from appearing to be the tallest in the room.

“You’re a disgrace to the family name,” she spits.  “You’ve  _ ruined _ us.”

“We were already ruined, Mom,” says Cerulean, voice colder than Sku’s ever heard it.  “Now get out of my house.”

Trechein looks like she’s going to keep fighting, drawing her angular, pristine coat tighter around her shoulders, but Cerulean’s gaze is blank and unforgiving.

Trechein spins on her heel and leaves, stalking out to the rented car and chauffeur looking grossly out of place amidst the scrap metal and dusty road.

Sku shuts the door and Cerulean sinks immediately, the lines of their shoulders sagging into a more familiar shape.  She can’t come up with any words, so she pulls them into a tight hug, feeling them shake, just slightly.

Cerulean doesn’t want to talk about it, makes that abundantly clear when Sku opens her mouth to try, so she doesn’t push, just hugs them for as long as they need it and lets them pick the takeout place that night.

The way they said “our home” echoes at the fringes of her head for days and days, after.

  
  


11.

They’re working on an old mech together - Cerulean knows enough, ten months in, that Sku trusts them to do the easy stuff by themself.  It’s peaceful, silence broken only by an occasional question or a request for a tool.  Sku leans over Cerulean’s shoulder to inspect their work on the interior of the foot of the mech, crushed in battle.  Her proximity warms Cerulean’s cheeks, even after all this time - when her hand brushes Cerulean’s own on the warm metal, they can’t help but shiver, just a little.  They can’t tell if she notices.

Sku shifts behind them, pressing closer so she can point out something on the inner workings, and Cerulean shifts, turns just a little bit towards Sku and suddenly their mouths are inches apart and Sku trails off on whatever she had been saying and -

It’s honestly unclear who makes the first move, whether it’s Cerulean’s hand on her cheek or Sku leaning in, but then they’re kissing, tentative and unsure, but it’s  _ sweet _ .  Gentle.  Right.

Cerulean pulls back after a moment to look at her - she’s flushed, and they can feel their cheeks burning to match.  There’s a grease smudge on her cheek, probably from Cerulean’s fingers, and they wipe it away with a thumb, a goofy smile spreading across their face without their consent.  Sku can’t help but laugh in response, months of uncertainty melting away in a moment as she puts wide, gentle hands on their hips.

“What are we doing,” Sku says, not a question but still unsure.

“Whatever we want,” Cerulean replies, leaning in again.  This time, the meeting of their lips is rougher, heat building between them.  Sku presses Cerulean against the side of the mech they’ve been working on, warm metal on their back and Sku’s bulk at their front and they shudder at that, grasping onto Sku’s hair, her broad shoulders, anything they can reach.  It’s like a dam that’s been broken, almost a year of wanting distilled into a single kiss.  Sku tugs Cerulean’s braid free, runs her hand through their hair and they whine into her mouth, hitch a leg up around her waist.

And then, a faint clang of the front door as someone enters the workshop.  They part with a gasp, panting and flushed.  Sku is the first to start laughing and Cerulean follows, the intensity broken.  Someone calls out a faint “hello?” into the cavernous room, and Sku sighs as she extricates herself from Cerulean with one last kiss to the side of their mouth.

“I’d better deal with this,” she says as Cerulean tries their best to fix their hair into something mildly presentable.  They can’t help but pull her in for another kiss, quick and hot, and Sku finally pushes them away, gentle but firm.  “Later.”

“Promise?” asks Cerulean, going for suggestive and landing firmly in a genuine plea.  Sku grins, darts in to kiss their cheek.

“Promise.”

 

 

12.

And Sku keeps her promise, pressing Cerulean against the wall of the hallway, their hands tugging on her hair and scratching across her back and lips insistent and pliant all at once.  It’s intoxicating, it’s everything she’d never let herself want, everything she tried and failed to deny her imagination, it’s…

She loses her train of thought when they finally make it to the bed, laughing and collapsing onto the duvet, too caught up in each other to bother being graceful.

It’s the best night Sku’s had in years - she remembers why it’s always better with people you trust implicitly, who know you deeply, and she feels that in the way Cerulean runs reverent hands down her arms and chest and thighs, in the way they sigh, pliant and open and welcoming underneath her.

The air is hot and thick, even at night, but they hold each other close anyway, sweat running in rivulets on their skin and Sku doesn’t care at all - it’s worth it for the way Cerulean buries their head in her chest, tangles their legs together.

She can feel their smile against her skin, and she can feel it when they whisper,  _ I love you _ .  She grins, giddy and disbelieving, and mouths the words back into the soft hair at their temple.

When morning comes, Cerulean makes breakfast and Sku goes through her morning regimen of stretches, a routine well-worn.  But this time, when Sku emerges from the bedroom and pads into the kitchen, she’s  _ allowed _ to kiss their cheek and it’s like all the pieces have fallen into place.

She’s  _ home _ .

**Author's Note:**

> _well, i woke up this mornin'_   
>  _and i saw a new day dawnin'_   
>  _oh, i woke up this mornin'_   
>  _but i never, never knew_   
>  _i never knew, never knew_   
>  _never, never knew, never knew_


End file.
